Three nights after the conversation between De Beaurepaire and
Emérance, the clock of St. Germain-l'Auxerrois was striking ten and
the _couvre-feu_ was sounding from the steeples of many other church
towers, as a large, substantial travelling carriage drawn by six
horses passed slowly out of the Rue Richelieu and took its way through
the great open Place du Louvre towards where the Bastille stood, and,
beyond that, the Porte St. Antoine.
A few minutes, perhaps a quarter of an hour, before this time, that
carriage had been stationed in one of the narrow streets running out
of the Rue Richelieu and, to it, there had advanced two young men
dressed in the height of the fashion of the period. But their velvet
and lace, their silk stockings and high red-heeled shoes, and also
their rapiers, were all hidden, since they were covered up by the
large furred _houppelandes_ with which these young gallants were
enveloped from their throats to their heels. So much enveloped that
the patches on their faces were even more invisible than were their
remarkably bright eyes and, indeed, the greater part of their
features.
Behind these evident scions of the _haut monde_ there walked a young
serving man, or servitor, dressed in a sober, faded-leaf coloured
costume yet having on his head a great hat from which the long
cocks-plumes depended and fell over his face, and, at his side, a
stout rapier of the Flamberg order.
Drawing near to the carriage at which one or two passers-by were
looking curiously, while one of the night-watch who happened to be in
the neighbourhood was doing the same, one of the two young men turned
round to the servitor behind and said:--
"Jean, have you left word that we shall return at midnight from the
masquerade and that we shall require supper?"
"I have, Monsieur le Vicomte."
"So be it. Therefore, Pierre," said the vicomte, addressing his
friend, "let us away. Already the first dance will be over and, _me
confond!_ there are plenty of _beaux yeux_ will be looking for our
arrival. Fellows," glancing up at the coachman and footman on the box,
"set out. And miss not your way. Remember," speaking loudly and
harshly, "'tis to the Rue de la Dauphine we go; to the house of
Monsieur le Marquis de Vieuxchastel. If you proceed not straight you
shall be whipped to-morrow. You hear, dog?"
"I hear, Monsieur le Vicomte," the coachman answered in a surly tone,
though, as he did so, he turned his head and looked at a bystander
under the oil lamp, and thrust his tongue into his cheek and winked
and muttered an offensive word.
"So be it," the vicomte said, as he got into the carriage after his
friend and while the servitor clambered up behind. "So be it. Now be
off. Do you hear, beasts? _En route_ for the Rue de la Dauphine."
Slowly, therefore, because all large vehicles progressed but heavily
over the uneven roads of Paris, the great carriage went on its way;
though, since, instead of at once crossing the Pont Neuf--which is so
old!--it continued to remain on the north side of the river, it would
seem that the coachman had, in truth, missed his way in spite of the
injunctions of the vicomte.
Soon, too, by following this route, the carriage was underneath the
frowning towers of the Bastille and passing by the moat in front of
the great door, and so went on through the Marais and past old streets
and, at last, past old houses standing alone and having, in some
cases, thatched roofs. A few minutes later it neared the Porte St.
Antoine with its great wooden, iron-studded gate closed for the night.
But, here, by the side of the road, which was but a mass of dry mud,
there stood a house, or rather cottage, with a penthouse roof, having
outside of it a staircase leading to the upper floor. A house that
had, also, a long wall running at right angles from it which threw a
darkness deeper than that of the starlight night itself over all
beneath it.
"This," said the coachman to the footman, "is the spot," while the
servitor who was behind noticed that the speaker crossed himself.
"_Bon Dieu!_" the man went on, "what a place for a love tryst, an
elopement."
"'Twill serve," the other fellow said; "and he in there wants neither
De Beaurepaire nor us yet."
"And never will, _Dieu le plaise_," the trembling coachman said, since
the man who inhabited this house was the executioner.
Then, the carriage, which had gradually drawn into the deepest shadow
of the wall came to a stop, and, from out that shadow, there stepped
forth a man. A man who, advancing to the door of the vehicle, opened
it and said:--
"So! you are here. Both. And, for the third--Humphrey West?"
"He is here, Monsieur le Chevalier," the supposed servitor behind
replied, jumping down from the banquette. "Here."
"And you, my noble and illustrious friends," the Prince said, glancing
up at the coachman and footman, "my noble friends of the tripot and
the gargote; how fares it with you? _Cadédis!_ the ride you have
before you will wash all the fumes of Van den Enden's poisoned wine
out of you. When you return to Paris with your pockets stuffed full of
pistoles your mothers will not know you."
"Now," ignoring the answers which the two men on the box growled back;
men who were, in truth, Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury. "Now, all is
arranged. You, Madame la Duchesse," addressing the handsome young
gallant who had hitherto been termed M. le Vicomte, "will ride through
the gate by my side. You, Mademoiselle d'Angelis, will ride with the
faithful Humphrey. While as for you," looking up at the men above,
"you will follow close behind."
As thus De Beaurepaire spoke, from behind where Paris lay there fell
upon the ears of those assembled near the gatehouse the sounds of a
horse's hoofs, of a horse in full gallop, while, to them, were added
the jangle of bridle and bridoon as well as another sound which told
of a sword clanking against stirrup and spur in accompaniment with the
action of the horse's body.
"Are we pursued?" asked Fleur de Mai, his big hand ready to draw his
weapon from its sheath. "If so, one thrust through the horse and then
another through the rider and, lo! there is no further pursuit," and
he laughed, indeed gurgled, deep down in his chest.
"If it should be my husband or one of his menials!" the Duchess
murmured fearfully.
"Tush!" exclaimed De Beaurepaire, "there is but one, and we are four.
While if the rider is soldier, gendarme, or police spy, he takes his
orders from me. What have we to fear therefore?"
Suddenly, however, he gave a laugh and said, "Listen. Hark to him how
he sings as he rides along. 'Tis La Truaumont who has drunk his last
cup in Paris quicker than one might have deemed, and has caught us on
the road sooner than I, who know him well, could have expected."
And so, in truth, it was. Upon the night air were borne the strains of
a song the adventurer was singing: in a deep, rich voice was being
trilled forth the chanson:--
Pour faire ton âme et ton corps
Le ciel épuisa ses trésors,
Landrirette, Landriri.
En grâces, en beauté, en attraits
Nul n'égalera jamais,
Landrirette, Landriri.
"_Hola!_" he cried, breaking off suddenly in his tribute of admiration
to some real or imaginary beauty while reining in his steed with a
sudden jerk. "_Hola!_ What have we here? Young gallants in cloak,
plume and sword; the great and mighty Prince de----"
"Peace. No names, imbecile," exclaimed the latter.
"And all the basketful," La Truaumont continued, taking no notice of
his leader's words. "My own beloved Fleur de Mai, countryman and
companion----"
"'Tis true, though you say it," growled Fleur de Mai in a harsh,
sonorous voice.
"And Boisfleury. The illustrious Boisfleury. Good! Good!" When,
addressing De Beaurepaire, La Truaumont continued, "Noble Prince, do
we not pass the barrier to-night, or do we sleep at attention outside
that?" and he nodded to the gloomy house close by.
"No. Since you are come so much the better. We will all pass through
together," and he repeated the instructions he had given before La
Truaumont came up, while adding, "For your descriptions, remember that
you," to Boisfleury and Fleur de Mai, "are of my following, and you,"
to Humphrey, "that which you please to term yourself. You, madame and
mademoiselle," addressing the Duchess and Jacquette with a smile,
"know also who and what you are. Now for the horses. They are here.
Come all and mount, excepting you La Truaumont who are already
provided for."
Giving his arm to the Duchess as he spoke he led the way to a still
darker portion of the wall, under which were six horses all saddled
and bridled and by the heads of which stood two of his own grooms.
"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Humphrey, as a grey mare looked round and whinnied
as he approached, "there she is, my pretty 'Soupir,'" and going up to
her he stroked her silky muzzle and whispered to her.
"To horse," said De Beaurepaire, "to horse all. Madame," to the
Duchess, "mount," while she, obeying him, put her foot in the stirrup
and her hand to the mane and raised herself to the saddle as easily as
she might have done had she been in truth the cavalier she pretended
to be.
A minute or two after, all were mounted. The Prince was on a great
fiery chestnut which might have been chosen with the purpose of
matching the strong masterful man who now bestrode it; Jacquette was
on a mare lithe as Soupir herself, and the two desperadoes on horses
strong and muscular.
"Summon the gate," the former said now. "Summon in the name of the
King."
"Open," cried La Truaumont, "open. _Par ordre du Roi_. Open, I say."
"Who are you?" cried out a voice from the gatehouse window, at which a
man's face had by now appeared. "Who are you that summon thus in the
name of the King? Stand and answer."
"The Prince and Chevalier Louis De Beaurepaire, Grand Veneur and
Colonel of all His Majesty's Guards," replied La Truaumont, knowing
well that his master would not deign to answer at all. "Attended by
the Chief of his own bodyguard, the Captain de La Truaumont."
"And the others, most worshipful sir?"
"The Vicomte d'Aignay-le-Duc," called back Humphrey, naming, as had
been decided, one of the Duchess's estates, "attended by Monsieur Jean
de Beaufôret," naming another, "followed by their attendant, Monsieur
Homfroi."
"And the others, who are they, illustrious seigneur?"
"Le Capitaine Fleur de Mai, Le Colonel Boisfleury, both of Prince de
Beaurepaire's bodyguard," bawled the former in an authoritative,
dictatorial voice.
"Pass all," the man said now, the gate beginning to creak on its
hinges as he spoke. "Pass. Good-night, noble seigneurs."
"Bid him let the gate remain open," De Beaurepaire said to La
Truaumont. "Tell him I do but ride outside it, there to make my adieux
to the 'Vicomte'."
After which, and when this order had been given, all rode through the
gate. The travellers were outside Paris; they had left it behind.
All had done so with the exception of De Beaurepaire who--since he had
fulfilled his promise of preventing the Duchess from being interfered
with in her flight from a mad husband until, at least, she was outside
the city walls--was about to say farewell to the party.
"Farewell, Louis de Beaurepaire," that lady said now, as she placed
her long-gloved hand in his, while her soft, dark eyes looked out at
him from under her curled wig and plumed hat, "farewell. You have
placed me in the way that leads to safety and freedom; I beseech of
you to do nothing that may make safety and freedom strangers to you.
Hear my last words before I go. Even as now you turn back to Paris and
all the honours that you have, so turn back from that which may
deprive you of all honour; ay! and more. _Addio_."